


and they still sent a physicist

by bellygunnr



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Black Mesa may be gone but its effects arent, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Chronic Pain, Gen, Mute Gordon Freeman, Permanent Injury, Trauma, speed healing is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. so it goes for Gordon Freeman 20 years later, his body unchanged and mind unprepared for the world post-Cascade.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 127





	and they still sent a physicist

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Physics of the Crowbar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156932) by [ArdeaWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdeaWrites/pseuds/ArdeaWrites). 



Each step is taken with a painstaking, teeth-gritting determination. You’re surrounded by things you don’t understand, and your body is riddled with pain, but you cannot stop. To stop is to die. That’s how it was in the midst of the Resonance Cascade, thus how it shall be now. Even if the passing violence you see confounds and worries you. Armed, masked denizens peer at you with tinted glass eyes even as they beat into or manhandle people of far less stature. A power imbalance.

Corrupt. Violent. Senseless.

_ Where am I? _

A massive projector overheads displays Dr. Breen. You know Breen on some level. Your employer… does that still hold true? He speaks of City 17, a safer, esteemed place, provided by generous benefactors. No one looks you in the eye as you pass. You ignore everyone in turn, following the most direct path to some invisible destination.

But what awaits you at the end of this concrete pathway? A train seems to be at the ready, guarded by the same masked people littering the entire city. Who were they? Police of some kind, clearly, but not of the flavor so burned into your mind. Your skull throbs with pain. 

Your ears ring violently when a door pops open to your right. Another masked person, waving something electric blue in your direction--

“You, Citizen!”

Rough hands grab you by the shoulders and arms. A strong body pushes you forward, forcing your legs to move even as your joints howl with pain. Each footfall sends searing hot bolts to your knees-- you stumble, despite the fierce guidance. You force yourself to roll with the momentum, but you’re left wheezing and gasping for your efforts.

The masked man pauses, then heaves you back up, modulated voice crackling unintelligibly. There’s a harsh exchange of voices-- Do you need help with this one?-- Look at the state of him, don’t be ridiculous--

You’re guided, imperceptibly more gently, through the steel door.

Whatever happens behind this closed door, you will summit, just as you did Black Mesa. You have no other choice.

The body releases you, letting you collapse into a heap. Your mouth opens in a silent scream of pain.

You try to brace yourself for what comes next, but your brain is resistant to it. The mind is overwhelmed by the body-- too much confusion, too many unknowns, for a logical approach to prevail. There’s a pulsing, stabbing sensation directly between your eyes, whiting your vision, robbing you of most sensations beyond raw pain. Where were you? What was going on? How could you continue like this?

“Gordon! Gordon? Dr. Freeman--”

The voice is loud, raw. Clear, human.

“Come on, buddy. It’s me, Barney. What’s wrong? Gordon?”

Barney? Barney… Calhoun, right? You remember him. He’s your best friend.

He’s alive? Alive. Alive.

Survived Black Mesa.

_ I will live. _

There are hands on you. Strong ones, the same as before, but far gentler this time, pulling you into an upright position. You let yourself go limp, back now supported by a cold concrete wall. Your vision is dark and shadowy, but after some furious blinking, it clears up. 

This room is foreboding. But Barney’s face is in front of you.

You touch it, still wheezing. 

“Come on, buddy. Where’ve you been? God, you look real bad…”

Where have you been? In hell, you try to say, but your throat won’t work. It hasn’t worked since you were a child. But you don’t have the strength to sign.

“Fuck, Gordon. I need to patch you into Kleiner real quick, he’ll be overjoyed to see you. I’m gonna see if Alyx can meet us halfway. You look--”

You grab his chin, staring into his eyes. You wonder how bad you must look to make Barney look so scared. He’s different then you remember. Older? God, your head hurts. 

“...Come on, Gordon. Don’t go anywhere.”

Barney eases himself out of your grip, your fingers sliding off one by one. It takes every ounce of your concentration not to slip back into oblivion. There’s voices and crackling and noises you don’t recognize, which your brain tries to react to, tries to catalogue, but your body won’t react. It’s nice here on the floor. Cold. There isn’t as much pain when you’re not moving. After some fluttering, you let your eyes close, if only to abate the intense migraine. 

It does not abate. Now you stew in your pain in red-tinged nothingness, the fluorescent overheads penetrating thin eyelids. Your breathing feels heavy and labored, but there’s no overt pain in your chest. Some stinging and cringing, maybe, but liveable. Can you run? Probably.

Painkillers would be nice. You think about asking for some, even mouth the words, but your hands won’t move. Maybe Barney could put that electric stick to use-- whatever it was. You could probably take it in the right place. 

(You try not to think too hard about how vulnerable you are now without the heavy weight of the HEV. The orange suit was the only reason you were alive after all-- fucked up, irreparably so, but alive. How many bad habits did that armor cement into your reflexes? How far did you push yourself beyond human ranges? If you had to fight now, you’d surely die--)

_ I will live. _

A strong hand once again shakes your shoulder. “Come on, Gordon, we’ve gotta get you moving. Before they get suspicious. You can get to Kleiner’s lab if you take the back door here. Get to the plaza. I’ll meet you there.”

What?

You want to ask more questions, ask for clarification. You recognize Kleiner, but the plaza-- no. You’ve been given a way forward, of which there is only one, and so you will do it. You’ll find the plaza, no matter what it takes to get there. Your vision sparks as you force yourself to stand upright, staggering past the back door.

“Go! There’s a window up there you can leave through. I’ll meet you there!”

You don’t remember a whole lot past that. When your consciousness returns--

-

“He’s waking up, I think.”

“Oh, good. He’s been out for quite some time.”

“Barney, give the man some room to breathe, you’re-- Christ!”

Despite the painless, free-floating feeling, you swing wildly for the blurry face nearby. That’s a threat. It’s too close. Where are you? It’s a small room, somewhat empty, but there are affectations to it you can’t yet parse. Your glasses must be off. That’s-- that’s bad. 

“Sit down, Gordon! You’re safe here!”

“Please, Dr. Freeman, you need to rest--”

“No, give him space, you’re scaring him--”

Bodies are struck, there’s struggling, but you find your glasses folded on a tiny table. As soon as you slide them on, you relax, now able to see clearly and assess properly. You turn around slowly, back to the wall, and observe.

There’s three people in the room with you. The room isn’t as empty as you thought, but it’s most likely a bedroom. You nudge aside an IV stand, making your path forward clear. Who are these people? There’s Barney, presumably Dr. Kleiner, and a young woman-- all of them unknowns. Your brain bucks against demoting Barney from “threat” to “ally.”

“Gordon, how are you feeling?”

You latch onto the speaker, a tired, elderly man that yes, you can safely say that’s Kleiner. He looks like he’s aged twenty years but there’s no mistaking him. With effort, you force your hands to move.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

The pain was gone. The IV stand you see has labeled bags, which you try to read discreetly, but the tiny text threatens a new migraine. Probably painkillers and fluids, if you had to guess. 

“Well… Alyx carried you here after you passed out,” Kleiner says slowly. “You’re in my laboratory! Well, bedroom, but same difference, I’m sure.”

“I thought you were dead! You went down real hard after those Combine bastards got the jump on you,” Alyx cuts in. “But I figure, dead or alive, you had to get back to Kleiner somehow.”

Barney looks vaguely ill. You switch from observing Kleiner and Alyx to fixate on Barney. He’s definitely older, his face weathered. 

You sit back down on the bed. It’s the softest thing you’ve felt since-- since-- when? Last week? That’s what your brain, your body, suggests, but there’s something wrong with that. Time has passed, far beyond your comprehension. There are too many gaps in your memory for you to relax. 

You don’t remember what happened after meeting Barney, or being jumped by-- what had she called them? Combine? You glance up at Barney, still clad in that garb. 

Something’s wrong here.

“It is good to see you’re alright, Gordon. You’ve been our shining light for some years now.”

What?

Years?

You school your face into a tightly clenched grimace, completely silent. Something was definitely wrong here. 

“How can you say he’s alright? That’s pushing it, Doc,” Barney scoffs, voice spiked with anger. 

With the painkillers, you certainly feel alright, but a brief inspection of your body shows you scarred and bruised flesh, surprisingly clean of grime but still wounded. When you press down, tough knots of scar tissue press back. You’re reminded vividly of the medboxes back in Black Mesa.

As you had suspected, they’ve caused issues now that you’re in the clear.

But how in the clear were you now?  _ Doesn’t matter _ , you tell yourself. 

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “If you answer my questions.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the aftermath of the medboxes in ArdeaWrites' rendition of Half Life 1 and the consequences that might occur in the beginning of Half Life 2 because of it. Will Gordon still be ushered into front-line combat regardless of his slew of injuries and pain? Probably. Also, I figured that Gordon would use the reprieve to get information directly instead of trying to extrapolate something. Path of least resistance, and all. He can deal with those consequences later.


End file.
